Just One More Day
by candlelightandwordsofink
Summary: When Rosanna suddenly appears at the farm as though Death had never taken her at all, Roxane and Dustfinger are overjoyed. Could they have gotten their wish? Could they have gotten even just one more day with their baby, with their precious little Rosie?


_**~Just One More Day~**_

Words. Sweet, beautiful words called Rosanna back and urged her eyes to open and blink in the sunlight. Words as beautiful as the songs her mother sang to her and the stories Brianna liked to tell.

The young girl sat up and looked around. She had been lying in the woods surrounded by the tall grasses and colorful wildflowers. Several blue fairies danced in the air overhead. A young girl stood before her, a piece of paper in her hands. She fidgeted nervously.

"Rosanna?" the girl asked her. She gave a nod in return.

"Would you like to see your mom and dad?" she had asked. She gave a smile, but it didn't quite reach her fear-filled, guilty eyes. Rosanna wondered if she even wanted to know what she had done to warrant such an expression. She just knew it scared her and who better to chase away fear than her mother and the man she had married after her father left.

"Yes, please," she said, giving a feeble nod that bounced the dark curls spilling down her neck. The girl held out a hand and Rosanna took it. Together and in silence, they walked through the trees, but the girl stopped as they emptied out into vast fields. Rosanna almost asked what had made her stop with the saw the familiar form of her mother up ahead. A grin broke out on the child's face as she released the hand of her guide and ran through the tall grasses.

"Momma!" she called, happily. "Momma!"

Roxane lifted her head, staring wide-eyed at the tiny figure approaching her. Tears blurred her vision as her face came closer and closer into view. A face that haunted her dreams, flushed with fever and beaded in sweat as she held her small body in her arms.

"Rosanna?" she said, her voice but a whisper on the gentle breeze that bent her herb plants forward towards the ground. Jehan looked up at her mother, confusion written on his face. When a tear slipped down her cheek, he grew scared. Rosanna. A name so familiar and so alien at the same time. A name that never matched a face for him. A ghost, approaching too quickly for his taste.

When the goose started her scolding as the girl pushed open the gate, Dustfinger stepped out, bringing Jehan a new sense of security, but like his mother, his step-father too froze at the child's calls, at her black curls as they bounced off her shoulders, at her vaguely familiar face, different from his muddled memories, but still so the same….

The girl continued to run towards her mother, right past Dustfinger's feet, past the playing martens, past even Jehan and wrapped her tiny arms around Roxane's legs. A sob escaped the woman's lips as she felt the embrace, proof she was real, proof she wasn't a ghost or a vision. She dropped to her knees in the garden, holding the three-year-old close, pressing her face into her hair, whispering her name over and over. She didn't seem to care about the herbs squashed beneath their feet or the many pairs of staring eyes. She only cared about one thing in this moment. Rosanna.

Roxane had often found herself looking for ghosts in the days after her youngest daughter's death, but she had not found any, no matter how hard she tried. But this child in front of her was no ghost. Warmth spread through her touch as she ran her fingers over the girl's chubby cheeks, hair as delicate and soft as fairy wings brushed against her skin. Her baby was back. Really, truly back. She didn't know how and she didn't know why, but she also really didn't care.

"Momma?" asked the child, dark eyes filled with concern. "Momma, why are you crying? What's wrong?"

Roxane only shook her head. Rosanna obviously did not remember what had happened to her all those years ago and Roxane did not have the energy to explain it to her. Besides, why should she worry about it now?

"I've been gone a long time?" Rosanna asked, brushing her mother's raven hair back with her tiny hands as she glanced at Jehan and at the other man still standing wide-eyed and pale as paper in the doorway of the farm house. The child didn't understand it, but somehow she knew and she needed no answer.

She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her still sobbing mother's neck, resting her chin on her head as she glanced at the nearby boy with a look of confusion. There was only one boy it could be, but the last thing she remembered was a tiny newborn she cradled in her arms the day he was born.

"Jehan?" asked the little girl, her head tilting just slightly. The boy gave a feeble not, barely remembering her himself. She gave a grin. "You're bigger than me!"

Jehan gave a nod. "Brianna's bigger than me," he told her.

"Brianna!" chimed the child. "Where is she?"

"She lives in the castle now, Rosanna," replied the boy. "She's all grown up."

Before Rosanna could say anything else, Dustfinger stepped up, drawing her attention. He walked slowly, carefully, as if through mud towards the scene. Her dark eyes met his before scanning his face and widening in recognition at the three pale scars her mother had so often told her about in the stories she told Brianna and her before bed.

"Daddy?" she gasped, staring as if she had seen a ghost herself. She gave a small giggle as she released her mother, who was now calming some, and ran towards him. As if on instinct, Dustfinger knelt down, arms outstretched. He barely knew what he was doing when the child ran into his arms. He sat there, still in a daze, as she wrapped her chubby little arms around his neck.

"I always knew you'd be back," she said, her voice but a whisper against his ear. "Even if Brianna said you wouldn't, I always knew you would."

Tears welled into the fire-eater's eyes as he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her in and holding her tight as he stood. He brushed back her black curls and kissed her forehead, whispering all the apologies he'd made and the I love yous he had said too late. She was heavier than she had once been, but still so light as if made of air.

Roxane shakily stood and their eyes met over Rosanna's head, both gazes holding the same question. How? Jehan moved to her side, clutched the red fabric of her skirt as he gazed up at the girl.

"Brianna should know," the young boy said, voicing the thoughts before either of his parents could think them. "We should go to Ombra."

The streets of Ombra seemed barren compared to the small family's elated mood. Roxanne and Dustfinger walked down the street, each clutching one if Rosanna's hands as if letting go would make her disappear. Jehan kept running up ahead, waiting when he had gone too far or they had reached a crossroads that would shield him from sight.

Soon, the castle gates loomed before them. It only took a few words to convince the guards to let them in. After all, they had visited Brianna here before. A messenger set out ahead of them to find the fiery haired handmaiden and soon she stood before them, alone in the elaborate halls. Her gaze met theirs before falling to Rosanna and her breath caught in her throat.

"What...what is this?" asked the girl incredulously. "R-Rosanna?"

The three-year-old grinned as she slipped her hands out of her parents' grip and trotted towards her sister.

"You got much bigger than me too!" She seemed amused by that fact.

Brianna dropped to her knees, the ornate gown she had received from Violante pooling around her. She took the child's hand in hers when she got close enough, running her thumbs over the back of the child's hands. Warm and bright with life. No trace of the fever that had taken her appeared on her face. Dustfinger and Roxane knelt at either side of their daughters, watching as Brianna pulled the child in close, tears welling up in her eyes and clinging to her long lashes.

"How?" cried the redhead as she looked between her parents. "How is this possible? How could she-"

Neither parent knew how to answer. No one knew the answer, not even Rosanna herself. After all, she seemed to only vaguely know what happened. She had said nothing more of her sudden appearance than her comment about being gone and they didn't see any reason to worry her over the details. She was happy and it had been so long since any of them had seen that beautiful smile.

"I think this is a cause for celebration," grinned Dustfinger as he drew both of his daughters into his arms. For once, Brianna didn't mind. "What do you say? Do you think Violante can spare you for a time?"

Brianna gave a nod as she worked her away out of the embrace. "I'll go to her and tell her I need a while off. She'll understand."

Brianna had been able to get away from her duties, giving them the ability to go out as a family for the first time since Dustfinger had left for the job he had disappeared from. Strolling Players performed in the streets, capturing the child's attention. When Rosanna asked about his own performance he only smiled and said, "wait until sundown and I promise you, Rosanna, I shall make you the prettiest flowers out of the flames. Whatever you want."

The child seemed pleased by his response before her attention was recaptured by a nearby tightrope walker. They spent the rest of the day in Ombra, watching the Motley Folk's performances, eating the food the nearby vendors served, and even splurging on some sticky pastries Roxane said Rosanna had always loved.

As night fell, they were back at Roxane's farm. She and Dustfinger sat on the back step of the house. It was too narrow for the both of them, so Dustfinger had pulled his wife to him, perching her in his lap with his arms around her waist and chin rested on her shoulder.

On the horizon, the dying sun gleamed down on the three frames of their daughters and Jehan as they ran and played through the tall grasses as if they were only children again. The long-missed sound of their jovial laughter reached the young couple's ears as they watched.

"I'll get you two!" called Brianna as she chased after Jehan and Rosanna. Slowly, the sun melted behind the distant trees, bathing the quaint little farm in darkness and starlight. Dustfinger smiled.

"Ready for the show?" he asked his wife, her beauty as she turned to look striking him again as it had the day he first laid eyes on her. She nodded, returning the grin, before calling the children back to her. As she gently stood, he did too. Leaving his shirt behind, he moved to stand in the yard, the children gathering and sitting around him, but far enough back to not be hurt by the dancing flames. Roxane took Dustfinger's place in the doorway of their house.

He whispered the language of the flames and they roared to life in his hands. Carefully, he conjured up images of beautiful flowers, blooming bright in the air in hues of red and yellow, great birds that soared through the air, and a particular move his old apprentice Farid had been quite partial to: Dragon's Breath.

The children clapped and cheered and Dustfinger felt his gaze drawn to the smiling faces of both his daughters. This time, he made a special note to commit it to memory, storing every tiny detail in his mind. The way Brianna's dark eyes glittered when she laughed, or how Rosanna smiled with her whole face, not just her lips. These memories, he would never let go of again. Not as long as he lived.

"I'm gonna do that one day," he heard Rosanna whisper, leaning in close to Brianna.

"Oh, are you now?" Brianna raised an eyebrow, giving the girl a smile.

"Yup! I'm gonna be a great fire-dancer like Daddy!"

Gwin and Jink chirped at his feet before dashing off in the grass, no doubt in search of unsuspecting prey to feast on. Rosanna gave a giggle and raced off after them.

"Wait up, Gwin! Wait up, Jink!" she called as she ran through the grass.

"Careful, Rosanna!" Dustfinger called. "They bite!"

The child paid little heed to his warnings as she followed them around, more slowly now, however, watching as they stalked a nearby bird sleeping peacefully in a nest made of grass and strips of cast away material as Dustfinger's performance came to a close. Jehan gave a yawn to which Roxane replied by calling bedtime and saying she would make up a bed for Brianna. Rosanna could sleep with them for now until they got her her own bed again.

"Rosanna!" Dustfinger called, as the others stood, prepared to head in.

"Coming, Daddy!" she called. Once again, Dustfinger knelt down, arms outstretched. Roxane and Brianna watched, lips curving into soft smiles as Rosanna ran towards him and into his arms.

"Oh, I love you," he said as he moved to wrap his arms around her, but as soon as he had returned her embrace, suddenly her weight disappeared. He looked down at his arms. Grey ash, like burnt paper, danced in the gently blowing breeze where his daughter once stood.

"No…" he whispered, feeling as though a lump had lodged into his throat, cutting off his air and making him quite dizzy. "No! Please no!"

He called the words into the air as Brianna collapsed to her knees behind him, her sobs of grief carried on the wind with the ashes. Roxane stifled her own sobs and knelt down, drawing their oldest into her arms, but Dustfinger could only stare wide-eyed and pale at the ash gathered on his skin; at the space where she once stood, so real and perfect in every way. How could she be gone? Who's cruel idea was this? To give her back and then take her away just as quickly.

He closed his eyes tight against the tears and conjured up the image of her face, a memory so vivid. Never again would he let her sweet little features slip the grip of his memory. Never again would he forget her.

His arms fell as hopeless, fragile sobs escaped his lips. His hands moved up to his mouth as warm tears slipped down his cheek to his ginger stubbled jaw and dripped down into the fine gray powder that had mingled itself with the stony soil. Perhaps his wishes really had come true. Isn't that what he wished for when he had woken this morning to the heartbreaking realization that it had been her birthday today? Just one more day with his daughter. Just one more chance to see her smile up at him, to feel her warm embrace, or her gentle hands as they held his. How could he know it would just bring back the pain so fresh and new?

How would he know it would break his heart all over again?

As Brianna fell to her knees, a fresh wave of guilt built up in Meggie's chest. Perhaps this was the wrong thing to do. Perhaps this was more curse than a gift. Maybe she should have told them it wouldn't last long, but then again, she hadn't thought Death would only give her up for a meager day.

"It's her birthday next week," Farid had told her when he visited. "Dustfinger's youngest. He seemed upset. I want to do something for him."

Meggie hadn't told Farid what she had done either. She meant to if she could finish the words on time, but that morning, she had chosen not to, in fear her choice was the wrong one. She just gave him what no one could, yet everyone asked for. Just one more day.


End file.
